On the Edge
by Hawki
Summary: Dying Light/Mirror's Edge Oneshot: As a Runner, Faith lived on the edge. But as the city became consumed in a zombie infection, the 'edge' was something she had to toe even closer. As did everyone else, threatening to plummet off the edge. The gap that separated human morality from barbarity...


**On the Edge**

I'm still on the edge. But for all the light of the sun, even as its light dies, there's no mirrors to reflect it.

It began slowly. Then picked up pace. Kind of like how the old order was imposed really. Signs of change, resistance to the change that boiled over, and then the imposition of a new order. Just like now. Small signs of change, whispers of a disease, a virus, or whatever other pathogen the news spun it as. Then it picked up. Infection spiked. And then…well, zombies. That kind of speaks for itself.

In a way, I welcomed it at first. It was something to shake the city up. But it's just the imposition of a new order. A transition from people hungering for nothing, to hungering for everything, particularly human meat. It's people not living lives to losing them. Oh, and did I mention that these zombies can climb and run as well?

So now, I'm on a rooftop. Still a Runner, only I'm running for my own life. Somewhere in the streets below, there's Kate. Alive or dead, I don't know. Right now, I can't think about it. Not when the undead have made it this high. Not when I see a plane fly overhead, dropping a cargo parachute on top of a building a mile away. Not when four other people have seen it too.

_Great. Just great._

They're ahead of me, and while on top of the buildings, they're still not as high as myself. I don't know what the government's thinking really – all the ammo in the world isn't going to save people like us when evasion is our greatest strength, and if there's some miracle cure in there, surely there's better ways of distributing it. But no, the quartet has started running, as have the undead. They follow sound. They climb. Zombies being on the rooftops is the logical end result.

That's why I jump from crane to crane. Let the others stick to concrete and jump. Yet yellow-shirt boy fail to balance his weight and crash through some wooden planks down to the levels below, along with his companions.

_Shit_.

It's not a charitable thought, but I hope the fall kills him. He'll break every bone in his body either way. The only mercy is that he's dead before the undead reach him. True, they can climb, but that doesn't stop them swarming the streets below as well. Y'know, like metaphorical zombies did back in the day. Heck, at least those zombies didn't come up here. So, anyway, I keep running. Going from crane to crane, making leaps of faith…heh, no pun intended. It takes longer, but it's safer, and right now…well, I feel dirty just thinking it, but right now, safety is my top priority. Not to mention that-

_The hell?_

He's made it. Yellow Shirt has made it. He's bloodied, he's bruised, there's no sign of his friends, but heck, he's still alive. And exhaustion notwithstanding, he's in relatively good shape. Turns out I underestimated him. And-

_He's going to get the drop first!_

Well, maybe he deserves it I think to myself. He went through hell and back. He…doesn't see the guy approaching him from behind. He just stands there. And only when the thug behind him hits him with a baseball bat, does Yellow Shirt stop standing and fall to the ground. Likely dead, given the pool of blood spreading out around his head.

_Fuck!_

I start running. Faster. Firmer. I barely know the guy. Thanks to the backstabber (or backhitter really), I never will. My body's on auto-pilot as I run. The auto-pilot guides my descent as I jump. And the auto-pilot activates the weapon systems as I put both my legs forward, the soles of my feet hitting the thug as he nears the supply drop. He's sent sprawling.

"Son of a bitch!"

I ignore his curses as I spring to my feet. He looks up at me, his figures casting a shadow in the light of the setting sun.

"You little cunt! I'll-"

He doesn't finish that sentence. Because he was taking out a gun as he was doing so, and he never gets to fire. In an instant, I've disarmed him, and broken his right wrist for good measure. He screams, the sound mangled as I grab him by the neck.

"You're good with a bat," I whisper. "But it's still a foul ball."

And I head-butt him, knocking him out.

Steadying my breathing, I holster the pistol and move over to Yellow Shirt. I kneel down, feeling for his pulse. There is none. I bite my lip, withdrawing my hand, and look at the blood that has worked its way between my fingers. None of the blood is on my hands for this death. But spill blood, and sooner or later, someone has to touch it.

"Sorry," I whisper, taking Yellow Shirt's wrench/shock device hybrid thingy, a weapon that I can tell from the charge remaining has already been used. "You'd have made a good Runner."

I stand back up, glancing back at the thug. The drop's his, I decide. I don't want to carry too much anyway, it'll just slow me down. If he's going to live or die, it'll be by the bastard's own merits.

So I run again. Towards the sun. From this building to the next.

On the edge.

But without the mirror.

* * *

_A/N_

_Saw the CGI trailer for_ Dying Light. _Assuming the trailer is indicative of gameplay, I guess it can be summarized as _"Mirror's Edge _with zombies," with a bit of _InFamous _to boot. Still, as we all know, zombies make everything better, hence coming up with this._


End file.
